


I didn't know I was lonely 'til I saw your face

by justbecauseyoubelievesomething



Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ark AU, Dancing, F/M, Happy Ending, Isolation, Mixtape, Suicidal Thoughts, Surprise Kissing, Virus, canonverse, quarantine au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25685233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething
Summary: There's no warning when the Ark goes into a station-wide quarantine. Unfortunately, Clarke is stuck in a storage compartment with janitor Bellamy Blake and they have very different feelings about music.A Bellarke one-shot for Writer's Month 2020. Prompt 2: quarantine.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863823
Kudos: 94
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	I didn't know I was lonely 'til I saw your face

**Author's Note:**

> Songs referenced in order:  
> Mayday!!! Fiesta Fever by AWOLNATION  
> Kill Your Heroes by AWOLNATION  
> I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers  
> Oh Ms Believer by Twenty One Pilots  
> Dance With Me by Ra Ra Riot  
> Feels Like Summer by Weezer
> 
> Title from I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers

_ Are you listening? _

_ All I wanna do is play rock and roll _

_ Play rock and roll at a disco party _

The bass line drones through Clarke’s head, the rapid beating of drums forcing her wide awake. She groans, rolling over and tossing her pillow across the room.

“Seriously?”

Bellamy answers her with a mocking smile and an extra crank of the volume knob on his dented little radio.

_ Ah, ah, ah, ah _

_ Now we're all excited mama _

The singers’ voices rise and fall, far too cheery for… Clarke glances at the digital time readout on the wall screen and groans again… 6:30 a.m.

“Come on, Princess,” Bellamy sings. He’s actually doing some approximation of a dance, socked feet sliding over the metal floor, deftly avoiding the rusty patches. “Rise and shine and all that!”

Clarke gives up and throws her threadbare blanket down to the foot of her cot. Turns out, anger is actually a pretty effective stimulant.

As Bellamy continues to sing to his obnoxiously loud music, Clarke fiddles with the white box sitting near the door, carefully peeling back the thin plastic film covering her cup of breakfast rations. It’s nothing but a lukewarm gruel and she forces it down with a grimace before setting the empty cup down alongside last night’s dirty dishes.

Day twenty-eight of quarantine with Bellamy Blake. Day twenty-eight of waking up to his terrible mixtape blaring. Day twenty-eight of hell.

“Not gonna dance today, Princess?” He slides past her, still pumping his arms absurdly and waggling his eyebrows furiously. Enough to almost make her laugh.

Instead she folds her arms tightly across her chest.

“Did you forget that we’re still locked up in here? Doesn’t really…  _ inspire _ me.”

“Well, glaring at the door isn’t going to lift the quarantine,” Bellamy teases. At the narrowing of her eyes, he backs away a step, holding up his hands. “Okay, okay, got it. Go back to glaring. I guess no one else here is going to be the resident fun-killer anyways.”

Clarke goes back to her bed and leans against the wall. The tiny supply compartment is almost filled by their two cots, even with the beds pushed against the walls. Boxes of old repair parts are stacked along the back wall to give them a little more space, but it leaves only enough for some walking room between the beds and then the white sterilized food box near the door. 

She was grateful for the cots anyways. When the quarantine first went into effect, there was nothing in the compartment but old boxes. And Bellamy and Clarke. Arguing after Clarke tripped over his mop bucket and sent sanitizer spilling everywhere.

Seems pointless now.

Bellamy goes back to dancing as his tape switches to the next song.

_ Well I met an old man dying on a train _

_ No more destination, no more pain _

Bellamy bobs his head exaggeratedly, locking gazes with Clarke. She rolls her eyes and he grins, mouthing along with words.

_ I say you kill your heroes and fly, fly, baby don't cry _

_ No need to worry 'cause, everybody will die _

Clarke pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her chin heavily against them.

“You really think that?”

Bellamy frowns and spins to turn the volume down slightly on his radio. Only slightly, much to her eternal annoyance.

“What?”

She tips her head towards the radio.

“No need to worry? Everybody will die? Blah, blah, blah?”

He squints at her curiously. “Maybe? I don’t know?”

He taps his foot almost unconsciously in time with the music, his baggy janitor’s uniform flopping slightly around his ankles with every movement. He has the top unbuttoned and rolled down, sleeves tied haphazardly around his waist..

Clarke chews at her tongue absently. “I just think… there has to be something else. Right?”

“Like…?”

She shrugs and looks away from him, tamping down the rush of annoyance. “Never mind.”

She can feel his gaze lingering on her for a moment, but he doesn’t push. A few seconds later the music grows louder again and Clarke closes her eyes, trying to relax into it.

_ Every day we just go, go, baby don't go _

_ Don't you worry we love you more than you know _

“I like to think there’s an afterlife.”

They’re laying in bed, but neither one is asleep. Still it startles Clarke to hear Bellamy’s deep voice whispering lowly across the room. In thirty-six days they’ve never talked after going to bed. Never broken their monotonous routine.

“An afterlife?”

She hears him shift, his blanket rasping against the plasticy mattress. “You asked. Remember?”

She thinks back. The days all feel the same.

“Yeah. Kind of.”

He sighs. “I do think there has to be something… else.”

His voice catches on the last word, and she wonders if he’d been going to say something different.

She turns towards his voice, her own stiff mattress crunching under her. Without the overhead lights, it’s almost pitch black in the compartment. She can just make out the dim silhouette of Bellamy’s cot and his unruly curls sticking up a little from his pillow.

“How many people do you think are dead out there?”

She hears him shrug, but he doesn’t answer and the silence grows heavy.

“I’m sure our families are okay,” she lies.

“I know,” he lies back.

She rolls back to look at the ceiling. A thin sheen of dark blue from the dormant wall screen is the only hint that it’s a ceiling above her rather than the vast blackness of uninterrupted space.

“I’ve worked with my mom in the clinic before. They have lots of counter-measures prepared for situations like this.”

“Right.” He sounds skeptical.

“Really.”

His blanket rustles again and when she glances over she can see that he’s propped up on one elbow, curls glowing in the soft black-blue.

“An Ark-wide virus? They were prepared for that?”

Clarke swallows. “Well…”

“Obviously, not prepared enough, or we wouldn’t still be in here.”

She licks her lips, trying to look for words to defend her mom, defend the rest of the medical team working on the vaccine. But she feels the same desolation Bellamy does. The heaviness of their isolation. The loneliness.

Clarke closes her eyes trying to block out the stupid tiny compartment. Trying to dream of being home and work and… anything else.

Several minutes of silence pass.

“I’m glad I wasn’t the only one in here. When it happened,” Bellamy whispers.

It’s so soft that she almost misses it and she’s almost sure that he didn’t mean for her to hear. She keeps still, keeps her breathing even. After a few seconds she hears his sigh and the way he rolls away from her.

She’s never felt so alone.

_ Hey, I hear the voice of a preacher from the back room _

_ Calling my name and I follow just to find you _

“Rise and shine, Princess!”

A groan and a thrown pillow. A snarky smile and moonwalking in patched socks.

A hastily swallowed cup of slime.

Forty-five days.

Bellamy is winking at her today. He’s taken that up lately. Winking and smirking and increasingly ridiculous dance moves.

She just barely convinces him to not try back flips.

He’s getting more erratic the longer they’re confined together and Clarke doesn’t know how much longer she can handle him like this.

_ Counting seconds through the night and got carried away _

_ So now I'm standing on the overpass screaming at the cars, _

Bellamy spins and throw his cupped hands up to his face to scream inches from Clarke’s face:

_ Hey, I wanna get better! _

“Fuck. Off.”

He cackles and dances back across the room.

Clarke angrily slams down her empty cup next to… a full one. She runs her hand over the unbroken seal on top… then the one next to that and the one next to that. Yesterday’s rations. Untouched.

She sits back on her heels.

“Bellamy?”

_ I didn't know I was broken 'til I wanted to change _

_ I wanna get better, better, better, better, _

“Bellamy!” she yells.

Bellamy spins towards her again, weaving like he’s drunk. But now she sees the strange shine to his eyes. The flush in his cheeks.

“Bellamy, sit down.”

He laughs at her again and keeps dancing. Always just a fraction away from tripping over those ridiculously baggy pants. Did the Ark not give the janitors correctly sized uniforms?

“Bellamy!”

_ Cut out their pictures and I chase that feeling _

_ Of an eighteen year old who didn't know what loss was _

_ Now I'm a stranger _

Clarke jumps up and forcibly shoves Bellamy down on his cot. He struggles under her hands.

“Hey! Hey!”

“Listen to me!”

“Get off of me, Clarke,” he growls. His eyes dart wildly back and forth, like some sort of animal caught in a trap. “Let go!”

Clarke presses her palm over his forehead, shoving his head back against his pillow. Burning too hot.

“When did you stop eating?” she demands.

He doesn’t answer, trying to shove her hands away, but she holds him down with little effort.

“You’re weak, Bellamy,” she grits. “You should be able to throw me off easily. How long?”

He struggles feebly, breathes too heavy. “I don’t know.”

“Stubborn ass,” Clarke mutters. But she can’t help the wave of fear that washes through her. “Stay down. I’m calling the med team.”

“No!” His voice is so sharp that it stuns her motionless. Bellamy stops wiggling under her hands, eyes suddenly filling with tears.

“No, Clarke, please. I don’t… if it’s the virus… or if it’s just me… I don’t want them to take me. Take me away to die alone. Please… not like that.”

He’s babbling. Feverish. He probably doesn’t know what he’s saying. But she feels a lump form in her throat and she can only nod.

“Promise me? You won’t make me go?”

_ I didn't know I was lonely 'til I saw your face _

_ I wanna get better, better, better, better, _

“I promise.”

He relaxes under her touch and closes his eyes. “I’m just so… tired.”

Clarke lifts her hands and hesitates for a second before softly stroking his hair. He nuzzles into her touch and her breath catches in her throat.

“Just rest,” she whispers. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I know you will,” he murmurs. His skin burns against her hand, but she can do this. She can save him.

“I just wanted… just wanted to be done,” he whispers faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She strokes his hair over and over, the thick curls twisting softly through her fingers. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

“Shhh…” She’s not sure why she’s crying. Over Bellamy Blake and his stupid mixtape and his socks with the holes in the heels. “It’s okay. I promise.”

_ I didn't know I was lonely 'til I saw your face _

_ I wanna get better _

_ Oh, miss believer, my pretty sleeper _

_ Your twisted mind is like snow on the road _

Clarke is sitting on the floor, her back propped up against Bellamy’s cot, legs stretched out in front of her. She yawns and struggles to keep her eyes open as she sways her toes back and forth, humming slightly to the soft music.

_ Your shaking shoulders prove that it's colder _

_ Inside your head than the winter of dead _

“I must be dead.”

Clarke snaps her head around as Bellamy lifts his head slightly from the pillow, giving her a bleary smile. “I mean, Clarke Griffin humming? We must both be dead. No other way that would happen.”

She can’t talk. Can’t crack a joke. Can’t even smile.

Not after three days of desperation. Not after three days without his smile and his winking and his terrible dancing.

Not after forty-nine days total of Bellamy Blake.

Clarke doesn’t care what he thinks as she crawls up beside him and buries her nose against his shoulder, clinging to him as tight as she can manage.

He lets out a little ‘oof’ as she squeezes him and for a second he doesn’t move. Then she feels his arms sneak around her and he holds her tightly against his chest as she cries into his faded undershirt.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Stupid enough to refuse to let him go.

_ I will tell you I love you _

_ But the muffs on your ears will cater your fears _

“Hey, I’m here, Princess,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

“I… I missed you,” she sobs. “I missed you.”

“I’m so sorry.” His arms tighten. “I’m here.”

“You’re here.”

_ Oh I most, I mostly feel I had a good day _

Clarke throws her pillow out of habit.

Day sixty-seven.

Bellamy shuffles towards her bed, grin brighter than the overhead lights.

“Today’s the day, I feel it!” he sings.

“The day we get the vaccine?” Clarke grumbles, peeking out at him from under half-closed eyelids.

He scoffs. “No, I’m talking about important stuff.”

She sits up halfway, trying not to be too intrigued. “What… important stuff?”

He smirks and gestures for her to come towards him as he sways back and forth.

_ I live in loneliness _

_ So lonely _

_ So lonely… _

“Today’s the day you dance with me, Princess!”

Clarke’s automatic response is to roll her eyes but as Bellamy suggestively wiggles his eyebrows, she ends up giggling instead. He takes it as encouragement and waltzes closer before holding out his hand for her.

_ Come and dance with me _

_ Bitter sweet fool _

Something about his flushed cheeks and the bright smile she was so afraid she’d never see again makes her take his hand.

He yanks her up and her own socked feet slide across the floor, making her shriek. Bellamy laughs and catches her firmly against his chest, holding her hands tightly.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you, Princess.” Pressed against his chest, his voice sends a low rumble through her body and she shivers.

_ Bitter sweet fool _

_ I wanna be your toy _

He twirls her and their feet slide across the floor together. Clarke’s heart pumps harder than it has in sixty-seven days as Bellamy keeps them held chest to chest and sways them back and forth.

He dips her backwards, her loose hair cascading down over his arm. One of her hands instinctively goes up to grab at his neck, but he only smiles at her.

“I’ve still got you.”

Their gazes lock and she can’t be imagining the sudden heat that flashes between them, warmer than any fever.

Bellamy’s lips part slightly, as if surprised. But he only lifts her carefully, letting her hand drop from his own.

“I’ve always got you,” he murmurs.

_ I'll be so up for it _

_ You wouldn't slow me down. _

The music beats through Clarke’s veins, like some sort of fire urging her forward. Urging her not to think. Just to feel.

She surges forward and kisses him.

Bellamy freezes, but she waits, not daring to breathe. Then, just like when she climbed in bed with him, his hands come up to wrap around her back and tug her closer. His teeth graze her bottom lip and she gasps into his mouth. He kisses her insistently, searchingly and she lets him, losing herself in the feeling of his lips, softer than she would have guessed. His nose brushes her cheek and he carefully lifts one hand to trace the edge of her ear with the rough pad of his thumb.

When they finally pull apart, Clarke can’t help the little moan that slips through her lips. Bellamy doesn’t seem to mind. There’s a hunger in his eyes Clarke hasn’t seen before. An animal again, but this one isn’t trapped and helpless.

He steps her backwards towards her cot.

“Is this okay?” he whispers.

“Yes.” She’s nearly breathless as he slips down the shoulder of her shirt to leave a soft trail of kisses up her collarbone towards her throat. He nuzzles at the side of her neck, his hot breath sending goosebumps down her chest.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want more?”

“God, yes.”

_ We could try today... _

_ Aaaaah _

_ Come and dance with me _

_ Climbing up the tower, just a boy and his computer _

_ I'm still in my bathrobe, hiding in the shadows _

Clarke’s eyelids flutter as the jaunty music filters through her half-asleep brain. Then she feels a weight settle against her back and Bellamy’s arms return to cradle her and she smiles.

“I thought you were getting up,” she whispers, unwilling to move and break the spell she’s still under.

He snuggles into her back, nose brushing the back of her neck.

“Mmm… this is too nice to end.”

_ I'm not used to losing, bye, bye, sugar blue eyes _

_ You're home with the angels, thank you for being so kind _

“I agree,” Clarke murmurs. She lets her eyes droop closed again, enjoying the soft brush of Bellamy’s fingers along her bare arms.

“You know…” He leans closer to her ear. Like there’s anyone else anywhere near them to hear. “It doesn’t have to end.”

On some level, she knows that usually she would be backing away now. Throwing up walls. Keeping herself from whatever horrible mistake was bound to happen.

But this is Bellamy. Bellamy and his stupid songs and his stupid curls and his stupid lips.

So she tips her chin up to him with a sleepy smile and he kisses her ever so softly.

“Okay. It doesn’t have to end.”

_ I'm holding on and I don't want to let you go, whoa-oh-oh _


End file.
